Unwanted Attention
by Ibrium
Summary: Poor Arumat is languishing in his own private hell with no end in sight. Hopefully he'll find allies to help him confront this latest personal disaster. Written because teasing the strong, silent types is just too much fun.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: I love Star Ocean: the Last Hope for so many reasons, not the least of which it Arumat himself. Springing from that exuberant delight is this little story about our favorite Eldarian (poor Faize is just outclassed in every way...). I have finished the game and this fic is set after the ending events, so there may be a couple of spoilers lurking in the text. This is your warning and should be taken as such. It is going to be multi-chapter, say three, possibly four (everyone who has been waiting for my updates on other stories is likely giving up on this right now). ,I should also probably insert my disclaimer here, too, before I forget (I do so quite frequently): I do not own Star Ocean or the characters and plot therein (though I do own a copy of the game, which has a place of honor beside the XBox360), nor am I making any profit from this story aside from my own personal amusement. Having said that, enjoy. It's a present from me to you in honor of my birthday (since I hadn't actually planned on uploading it to the site).

* * *

Chapter 1: Always Watching (You're Not Alone)

* * *

The creeping sensation of being watched slithered up his back and caused the silky, silvery hair on the nape of his neck to prickle and stand on end. Arumat's golden eyes narrowed and he turned his head slightly, just enough to survey the rest of the Calnus's recreation room from under the thick fall of bangs that covered the right side of his face. His eyes narrowed further at what he saw.

It was her, again. He didn't know why she had taken this sudden interest in studying him at every available moment she didn't think he was looking. The number of times she had assumed he wasn't completely aware of his surroundings galled him: did she really think he had managed to survive for so long by being oblivious? He finished his movement, turning completely to face her directly. Sure enough, she fell to staring at the clipboard in her hands immediately, as though she had been occupied by whatever little notes she was carrying around today.

Across the room from them, the hatch to the gangplank and the outside world slid open with a soft hiss, admitting a rush of warm, moist air that smelled of the sea. Arumat could hear the Axe Beaks' harsh, shrilling cries as the ugly birds milled about on the beach, searching for food among the debris that washed up onto the shore. Their calls were cut off abruptly as the door slid closed again, and Arumat shifted his gaze over to the little group that had just entered.

Edge grinned at him, his usual easy-going nature on display. Behind the young captain were the little girl, the Morphus woman, and the cat-eared nuisance.

"Hello, Reimi, Arumat. Where's Bacchus? Sarah's gone on one of her walks again; I'd like to ask him to go along with her and keep her out of trouble. She seems to find it so easily." Edge's cheerful voice grated on the same nerves that Reimi's staring had been fraying for the last week. The Eldarian growled under his breath and stalked away from them, heading up the ramp to the crew quarters. Behind him he could hear Reimi comment, perhaps more loudly than she thought, "I don't know what's gotten into him lately. He's been so edgy lately—sorry, Edge—and I don't know why. I haven't seen him this tense since we went to fight the Missing Procedure."

"Maybe I should talk to him, find out what's wrong," Edge began, his voice conveying more concern than it had just a few seconds ago when he was reporting that the idiot angel had wandered off yet another time. Arumat growled again—he was going to have to cut back on that little habit, he noted distractedly—and resisted the urge to stomp back down into the rec. room and strangle the little fool.

"I think that would be a bad plan, boy," Myuria interjected. Arumat spared her a fleeting, grudging flicker of appreciation and continued down the hall a short way to the room he shared with the captain. Another spasm of irritation seized him as he crossed the threshold into the room: Edge had left his half in disarray. Again. With his temper now held only by the most tenuous of grips, the Eldarian ex-Captain sprawled out on his own, perfectly-made bed, rolling over to stare at the ceiling. After a while he roused himself enough from his mindless perusal of the ceiling for long enough to shuck off the heavy combat boots he always wore and to slide them under the bed. He was still in a bad mood and he knew exactly why. He was bored, horribly, terribly bored.

He had not crafted his warrior's body through blood and symbology only to while away the last of his few years of life sitting about idly and peacefully. Unfortunately, that was all Edge and the other members of the crew seemed inclined to do and they were also the only ones with the technology that he needed to get back to his _own_ ship—provided, of course, that he still had one. Gaghan had seemed reluctant to allow him to have it back in their last communication—apparently he felt that retaining even a single Eldarian battleship showed a lack of commitment to their vow to surrender their technology before colonizing Lemuris. Arumat caught himself growling again. It was getting ridiculous; he was no animal. He wanted to get up and spend a few hours in the training room slashing apart several hundred holographs, no matter that they were hardly exciting opponents. Still, he knew that if he were to do any such thing, his black mood would become even darker—nothing could get under his skin like an inferior adversary. And that left him only one distraction: sleep. Years of fighting almost non-stop had left him able to drop off in an instant into a light, shallow sleep from which he could awaken fully-alert if need be; rest was rare on a battlefield and all opportunities should be seized with both hands. Besides, it would give him a few moments respite from the clouds of negative thoughts that swooped about his sharply-pointed ears. He didn't even bother to undress, simply allowing himself to relax slightly and closing his eyes. A few slow breaths later, he was dozing.

He was not so deeply asleep, however, that he did not hear the almost-inaudible swoosh of the door opening. He became awake instantly, but remained motionless, hoping that whoever it was would either go away and leave him alone or would do something stupid, like trying to talk to him, that would give him good reason to pretend to the rest of the crew that it was his hair-trigger battle-reflexes that had made him lop off the intruder's head—an unfortunate accident that was most certainly not his fault. His scythe was leaning up against the bed in its usual spot, the sleek, sharp blades currently folded away into one edge. He could have it ready in a heartbeat… But there was no noise from the interloper; they made no attempt to speak and the door hadn't opened to allow them back out. And, more alarmingly, where his mind told him should be the faint electrical signals that marked the area any living body occupied there was simply nothing. That's when the slight weight landed on the end of his bunk. Tiny feet pressed down on his flesh as the thing walked up his legs and onto his bare belly, where it curled up into a little furry ball and started to purr softly. Needle-sharp claws slipped out a fraction of an inch and the small cat kneaded slightly at the taut, scarred flesh of Arumat's abdomen.

Arumat's temper boiled over and he jerked up into a sitting position and grabbed the cat firmly by the scruff of its neck. His amber-gold eyes flared with anger and narrowed into slits and another deep growl rolled in his chest. There was a soft poof, a small cloud of mist, and suddenly the cat became a pouting Meracle who dangled from his grip on her neck, one leg on each side of his and her long tail and soft-furred ears drooping.

"Aw, c'mon, Mattie," she whined, pawing at his restraining hand. "You let me sleep on you before! It's too cold on this ship and you were the only one who was laying still!"

Arumat was a little taken aback by her calling him by the little symbologist's nickname for him, which blunted the edge of his anger enough that he didn't just take up his scythe and do away with the little nuisance once and for all. Still, he wasn't about to let her get away with such flagrant disrespect for his person: he was going to throw her scrawny ass back out into the hall and she could find somewhere else to sleep. No sooner than had he started to swing his legs over the side of the bed so he could stand up, Meracle locked her legs around his waist and wrapped both arms firmly around his head.

"If you throw me out, I'll just have to sneak back in!" she yelled petulantly.

"And I'll throw you out again," Arumat returned, releasing his hold on her neck to try and pry her arms open so that he could retrieve his head from her clutches. She resisted, redoubling her grip and crushing his head to her chest so tightly Arumat could have sworn that he could hear the bones of his skull creak ominously. _Damn, the girl is strong_, Arumat thought acidly. He had always known that it was so abstractly—it would be impossible to discount her strength after watching her Comet Punch some poor bastard into oblivion—but to be on the receiving end of her disproportionate power was new and, frankly, fairly disconcerting. He was not used to not being able to overwhelm an opponent with his symbologically-boosted strength. Admittedly he was fairly sure that he could have forced her to let go, but Edge and the rest of the crew would become possibly more irritating if they took to scolding him for having broken the cat-girl's arms, even if the blasted angel could heal her easily.

"And every time I snuck in you would have to throw me out again, Mattie, and you would never get any sleep! So there, meow!" Meracle was practically crowing in delight now, seeing that she had struck upon a good argument; Arumat despised inefficiency and waste when it could be avoided, and losing sleep to argue with a crewmate was certainly a waste. The Eldarian wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of having him agree, however, so he simply laid back down, his strong abdominal muscles easily handling the extra weight of the clinging cat-girl on his chest as he returned to his former position.

"Alright, meow!" Meracle celebrated, letting go of him to hoist both fists in the air in victory. He wondered briefly if she did anything quietly—besides sneaking into people's rooms, that is. She grinned down at him, pulling her hands down out of the air to put both palms on his broad chest, just where the metal plates on his upper garment covered the top of his ribcage.

"You're the best, Mattie!" she chirped. "I don't know why, but you're warmer than anyone else onboard, so I always like sleeping with you best. But sleeping with Myuria is okay, too, because she's really soft when I sleep on her chest and—"

"Be silent," Arumat ordered wearily. Honestly, didn't the cat-thing know better than to blather on about another woman's chest? To his surprise, Meracle actually shut up, still grinning so that her little fangs peeked out from under her top lip.

"Change back," he commanded next. Meracle looked suddenly puzzled and tipped her head to one side.

"Why?" she asked, her slit-pupiled green eyes wide with innocent—unless she was an astoundingly good actor—confusion. Arumat was at a loss again, for the second time in less than five minutes. He was always amazed by the ease with which the crew of the Calnus could do that, even if he would rather bite his own tongue off rather than admit to bemusement. But how was he supposed to explain to what should have been an adult woman—albeit one with the mind of a child, courtesy of her many years locked in a cell with limited socialization—that it was socially unacceptable for her to straddle a man's thighs and share his bed aboard the Calnus? That would undoubtedly be a long, convoluted conversation that he definitely wanted no part in, but he also didn't want to be on the receiving end of one of Reimei's screaming fits, so Arumat thought quickly for the first excuse that he thought she might accept.

And he used it: "you'll be warmer with your fur." Meracle frowned at him, her lower lip pouting out. She crossed her arms under her breasts and leaned over him so that they were face to face and her long blue hair fell over her shoulders and slapped him in the face. He brushed it aside irritably, now wishing that he had just thrown her out when he had the chance. He could have used his scythe to melt the computer lock and keep the door closed since he was sure that Meracle didn't know that the manual override existed. The rest of the crew probably was intelligent enough to leave him alone...probably.

"It wouldn't be that much warmer, Mattie," Meracle told him. "I get hungry when I change like that, so I don't want to do it."

Arumat heaved a sigh, a once-rare occurrence that was becoming more frequent now that Meracle had decided that he wasn't as frightening as she had thought and had started talking to, or rather at, him. He reached up, grabbed her collar in one hand and half-rolled, half-twisted, pulling the cat-girl off of his legs and slamming her face-first into the bed next to him. A quick shove with one foot sent her sprawling on to the floor.

"Either change back, or get out." He delivered the ultimatum in his best don't-fuck-with-me voice, low and vibrating with menace. Meracle's tail bushed out and her ears dropped flat against her head, but it had the desired effect. Sort of. She didn't leave, but at least there was the poof of transformation and Meracle leapt back onto his bed as a little cream-colored cat. It looked reproachfully at him as he lay sprawled on his side. Arumat ignored her and rose to pull his blankets back. If he had to work this hard for a nap, it had better be a good one, which meant that he wanted blankets and a pillow. The Eldarian figured that he had worked hard enough during his life to deserve a few luxuries, especially ones everyone else just seemed to take for granted. He would have liked to have stripped out of his armor, too, but he wasn't about to invite catastrophe—which was the only way to describe the hellacious row that would occur if Reimei found out that Meracle, even in cat form, had slept next to him while he was in next to nothing. Golden eyes narrowed with annoyance at that thought; Reimei's fits seemed to be a frequent limiting factor in his actions—especially since the blond brat-captain always sided with her no matter how frivolous her complaint.

The Eldarian settled himself onto the bed, yanking the covers up to his chest suddenly for the simple pleasure of watching the little cat crash to the floor again. Tormenting Meracle was a suitable way for him to vent some of his frustrations. His head sank into the pillow up to his ears and Arumat wondered once again at the pointless extravagances the Earthlings seemed to delight in. The cream cat reappeared into his field of vision and stepped delicately across the coverlet to lie back down on his belly. Meracle blinked at him, tucked her paws under her chest, and went to sleep.

Arumat glowered at her for a bit longer out of principle, then allowed his own piercing golden eyes to slide closed. He relaxed his muscles, consciously easing each part of his body into his preferred sleep-state. Finally, he allowed his mind to drift and he, too, drifted into slumber.

He awoke to screaming a few hours later.

Sure enough, when the Eldarian slitted open one golden eye, there was Reimei, her clipboard clutched to her chest and her mouth open in an ear-splitting tirade. In less than the blink of an eye, Arumat went from the satisfied calm that usually followed a nap to scorching rage. He didn't yet know what she was going off about this time, but he damn sure wasn't going to let her barge in on him in his private quarters, yell at him, and get away with it.

So he sat up, because not even he could cow Reimei into silence from a less-than-dignified prone position—_though_, his mind supplied with a certain vindictive malice_, that's mostly because that bitch has somehow managed to survive without any self-preservation instincts whatsoever_. _A normal person would shut up and leave me alone_. Blankets and cat-girl tumbled off his chest and suddenly Arumat found his anger redoubled. Meracle's shoulders hit the floor, her feet still on the bed next to his thigh, and she blinked green eyes up at him and grinned sheepishly.

"Sorry, Mattie," she said, rubbing the back of her head with one hand, further tousling her already-mussed blue hair. "I was going to ask you if it was okay for me to switch back 'cuz I wanted some of the blanket, too, but you were really deeply asleep and so I figured it would be okay as long as I didn't wake you up. That's why you made me change the first time, right? 'Cuz I take up too much of the bed when I'm not a cat, right?"

Arumat kept very, very still, just knowing that if he let himself move even the slightest, his temper would get the better of even his self-control (_really, this crew was ridiculous. His crew had never been such a pain in the ass)_ and he would kill them both. Gladly.

Reimei was still yelling. When the Eldarian ex-captain finally felt that he had reined in his temper enough to prevent any unfortunate…_accidents_, he allowed himself to actually pay attention to what the brunette was shrieking loud enough for everyone on the ship—and no doubt on the planet—to hear.

"…and how could you, Arumat? Taking advantage of an innocent young girl like Merry! You probably scared her into doing it. Poor girl, and since she tends to sleep next to the rest of the crew, she was probably easy prey! Don't you know better than to force yourself ont—mph!"

Reimei's shrill voice was muffled when Myuria, alerted by the first mate's howls, appeared silently behind her and covered the brunette's mouth with one hand.

"Girl, you had better think about what you're saying before you just let it all out like that. Do you honestly think that Arumat here would do what you're accusing him of?" Myuria's voice was stern, but Arumat definitely heard an undercurrent of amusement and exasperation. Edge and Lymle arrived on the tail of her sentence, peering into the room around the two women in the doorway. Meracle had stood sometime during the tirade and she took the opportunity provided by Reimei's silence to prop her hands on her hips, give the crowd in the doorway a wide, feline smile, and announce to the world at large: "Don't worry; I wanted to sleep with Mattie." And with that, she leaned over, pecked Arumat on one high cheekbone, and marched out of the room in the direction of the galley. The quartet in the door stared after her and Arumat shook his head at the cat-girl's complete lack of understanding of the situation. After a while, four pairs of eyes turned back toward him. He glared and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Is there some purpose behind the staring, or are you just wasting my time?" He ground out, his voice deeper than usual and roughened by sleep. Myuria smiled to herself at the sound of it; Arumat didn't even want to imagine why. Reimei broke free from the redhead's hold, sucked in a breath, and pointed a finger at him aggressively.

"As first mate of the Calnus, I demand an explanation for your behavior!" She huffed, all affronted propriety. Her cheeks were bright red from embarrassment and anger. Arumat pinned her with his golden stare and raised one silvery brow before he drawled out his answer.

"I went to take a nap, cat-girl jumped on me, we argued, she changed into a cat, I went to sleep, she changed back. Surely you could have deduced that on your own, unless your intellect is softening from disuse."

"Ooh!" she breathed out in annoyance, then turned on her heel and stormed away, gesturing occasionally with her clipboard. Edge started to follow her, but paused just long enough to meet Arumat's gaze with his own worried blue eyes and say: "just try not to let it happen again, okay Arumat?" He left, ostensibly to soothe Reimei's bruised feelings.

"And suddenly this is my fault," Arumat mused aloud, tipping his head back and watching the two females remaining in the doorway from under lowered lids.

"Don't worry about it, 'kay, Mattie?" Lymle urged in her soft, almost whining tones. "Reimei's been kinda weird lately. She'll be better later, promise, and maybe she'll make cookies, 'kay? I'll go ask her." The little girl—_young woman, now_, Arumat corrected himself—vanished from the doorway, her blond ponytails trailing behind her. Myuria seemed to be waiting for something because after a while she nodded to herself and stepped into the room, closing the door behind her.

She wrinkled her nose. "This place is a mess."

Arumat acknowledged the comment with a soft grunt. "Edge doesn't clean up after himself."

"Ah," the Morphus woman replied, casting about for a place to sit that wasn't covered in clothing or papers or trash. She pulled the chair away from Arumat's desk and positioned it at the foot of the bed, then sat down in it and crossed her legs. "I thought that might be the case: I didn't have you pegged for a messy type."

"I was sleeping," Arumat reminded her in flat, unfriendly tones, hoping she would take the hint and get the hell out.

"I know," Myuria said smiling, deliberately ignoring the not-so-polite suggestion in Arumat's words. "I wanted to talk to you about Reimei."

"I have no desire to talk about the Earthling girl," Arumat nearly hissed, scowling ferociously.

"She likes Edge, you know," the redhead continued, ignoring the Eldarian for the moment and jigging the upper leg up and down gently. The motion was mirrored by her full breasts. "A lot. She would very much like to have a, how shall I say, _deeper_ relationship with him."

"This has nothing to do with me. Get out." Arumat was being deliberately rude and brusque; the so-far one-sided conversation Myuria had instigated was of no interest but of great irritation—he was sick of watching the archer make calf eyes at the captain at every opportunity—and he was trying hard to ignore the Morphus' soft flesh before the situation became more…difficult. It had been a long time since he had left Crowe and his body was taking the chance to remind him of that. The redheaded Earthling had been a very…attentive leader.

Myuria smiled sweetly at him and the ex-captain knew that she was fully aware of his predicament and was enjoying it, that bitch. She leaned forward to prop her elbows on her lifted knee and spoke through her Cheshire-cat grin, "it has a lot to do with you actually." And suddenly the Morphus symbologist leaned back again and was all business. "Don't you get it, Arumat? Reimei's finally decided that she doesn't want to be the little girl who was a childhood friend to Edge anymore. She wants him to see her as the woman she has become, but Edge is, as I'm sure you've noticed, a little slow on the uptake."

Arumat heaved a long suffering sigh before he could stop himself. His long silver bangs fluttered up into the air before resettling over his face and hiding part of the scar that crossed the bridge of his nose. "So tell her to tell him that, get out, and let me sleep."

"Unfriendly today, aren't you?" Myuria teased, shifting in her seat. "Don't worry, I'm not going to try anything. After all, I wouldn't want to force myself on anyone…" He could hear the laughter in her words and was reaching for his scythe when Myuria jumped out of her seat and rested one hand on his forearm. His muscles flexed and raised corded ridges under her palm, but Arumat halted his motion and glared at her. She ignored the look and continued. "I suppose that I haven't made this easier for her: men tend to notice me, and if I can get even cold, focused you riled up, imagine what I do to the boy."

Arumat gritted his teeth. He didn't need to imagine: he knew enough about what Myuria did to the boy's mind to avoid touching anything the captain had tossed onto the floor and to keep a blanket in the storage bay for when Edge got too loud. Myuria noticed the look of disgust that passed across his features and patted his forearm consolingly.

"I'm sorry you have to deal with him, Arumat. But the point is, it's me he's decided to notice, not Reimei. And she thinks that if she can seem more mature, more sensual and experienced, she can get Edge to notice her, too."

The Eldarian jerked his arm out from under Myuria's hand and crossed it with the other across his chest again. "So loan her some of your clothes," he snapped unsympathetically. "That's far more _mature_ than grousing at me all the time."

"She wouldn't fit into them properly," the Morphus symbologist dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand, plopping down on the edge of the bed next to Arumat's thigh. She leaned back so that she could rest her weight on her arms, leaving her upper body bridging the Eldarian's legs. "She's trying to make him jealous so that he'll pay attention to her again. The whole 'you didn't know what you had until you lost it' shtick."

"Because men like to be berated," Arumat sniped back sarcastically.

Myuria patted his knee. Arumat attempted to pull it away, but there wasn't really anywhere to go and he just knew that Myuria would find some way to get back at him if he dumped her onto the floor like he did the cat-girl. "Believe me, she doesn't mean to snap at you; she's just gets embarrassed every time she tries to talk to you since she's trying to find a way into your bed."

"Excuse me?" the frustration that had heated Arumat's tones throughout the conversation vanished, replaced by an icy levelness that promised death and dismemberment in the near future.

"You heard me, unless these things are just for show," Myuria said briskly, actually tweaking one of his long, pointed ears, her thumb caressing the soft skin not protected by the metal protectors. A quiver ran through Arumat's body and the Eldarian's golden eyes fluttered shut for just a moment at the shock of pleasure from the contact. It was distracting, to say the least. The Morphus looked fascinated and she reached for his ear again, muttering, "I'd read in the Morphus archives that an Eldarian's ears were an erogenous zone, but that's pretty impressive given how angry you were just a second ago. I wonder…"

Arumat loosed a snarl worthy of a mountain lion and caught her hand in a crushing grip. "Do. Not. Touch. My. Ears." He emphasized each word by tightening his grip until the woman's face went white, then he let go. Myuria cradled the appendage to her ample chest, staring at him in amazement.

"You really are pissed off, aren't you?" she said wonderingly. Her symbology was already dulling the pain and healing any damage he might have done to her hand. "Relax," she added, waving aside his hostility with her uninjured hand as if it was nothing more dangerous than a cloud of gnats—irritating, but not harmful. "I'm not going to do it again. Still, you would think that those weird coverings you wear would stop that from happening." He glared. She stared back guilelessly, making a show of keeping her hands folded primly in her lap though it forced her to balance precariously as she remained leaning back so that she could meet his gaze.

The moment dragged on and Myuria laughed, "You're just like a kitten puffing itself up to look meaner than it really is. You scare me more when you keep the expressionless face all the time; this way you seem more alive."

The silver-haired man made a soft noise of disgust in the back of his throat, gave up on trying to maintain some semblance of dignity since it clearly wasn't going to change the Morphus's disregard for his personal space one iota, and slumped back down onto his elbows. She was looking down on him now, but, hey, he thought almost ruefully, she'd been doing that the whole time, even when she had to look up to meet his eyes. He frowned at the curvaceous woman and inquired with deceptive patience, "are you done harassing me? Because I have better things to do than gossip with you about this lunatic crew."

"Like what, sleep?" Myuria returned, flashing him a wry grin. "Come on, Arumat. I know you're bored out of your mind, even if the rest of them can't see it. They're too young to understand the need to have something to do; they see the defeat of the Missing Procedure as the end of their journey and this stay on Roak as a well-deserved vacation. It never would occur to them that you might prefer to risk your life hunting down Grigori and killing anything that even looked at you funny."

"I didn't ask for an analysis of my state of mind," Arumat growled at her.

"And I gave you one anyway. You think differently than they do because you're a grown man and have lost so much. They're just now realizing that they're not kids anymore. Which brings us back to Reimei…" Myuria paused for a second to watch as Arumat flopped limply back onto his pillow. His long silver bangs resettled themselves over his face and completely hid his eyes. The redhead pushed the silver hair off of his left eye with one finger, revealing half of an intense glare. "It shouldn't be all that surprising to you, really. She's a young woman trapped on a ship with seven other people and is half in love with the boy. She wants to get experienced, fast, and is trying to figure out what men like, but she doesn't have anyone to ask . Asking me would be too embarrassing and, as far as she is concerned, I happen to be her rival for Edge's affections. Lymle is even younger than her and her only crush was Faize—kind of a sad ending for that little romance—so no help there, either. Sarah's clueless and so is Meracle."

"And it never occurred to her that there is a whole planet full of women conveniently at hand?" The words came out sarcastically: it seemed like such an obvious solution and he was forced once more to entertain the idea that perhaps Reimei wasn't nearly as clever as she had been made out to be.

Myuria—_infuriating woman_, Arumat noted—laughed at him again. "You don't know much about how women think, do you? You can't ask a stranger how to win a man—that sort of confession is sacrosanct to girls. Sharing it with someone you didn't know would just be _wrong_. It's personal."

Arumat stared at her blankly. A headache was building in his temples, reminding him that, while this little chat was a mildly interesting diversion from boredom in that it spurred his imagination to new heights in devising ways to kill the posse of fools he was now running around the universe with, it was also aggravating to the nth degree. He was really regretting not just shoving the busty symbologist out the door at the first opportunity.

"Since she didn't have anyone to ask, Reimei's decided that she would just figure it out on her own. Edge has proven oblivious to her advances—though I did warn her that she shouldn't have be so dead set against Edge seeing her in the shower if she planned on snaring him later, since it would just make him leery of spending time with her in any sort of intimate setting—so she has to make do with the other men on the ship. And I'm telling you Arumat, that girls like Reimei don't go planetside to seduce some strange man in some wild scheme to get more experienced."

The last bit was tacked on when the redhead noticed that Arumat was opening his mouth to comment about Reimei's attack on the men of the Calnus. The Eldarian's jaws snapped back together with an audible click, but the ex-captain couldn't suppress the scathing look he gave the symbologist.

"Anyway, that leaves just you and Bacchus. Bacchus's current body presents an immediate problem in Reimei's plans."

"So I'm just the last resort when everything else has failed?" He had meant to say it more sarcastically, but it came out bitterly and the redhead noticed.

"She knew you were the best option from the start, but it's hard to come to terms with that sometimes, given how far removed you are from anything like Edge."

Arumat gazed levelly at Myuria for a beat, than commented in a dry voice, "that's probably the closest you've ever come to actually complimenting me."

The Morphus laughed and tapped him on the chest with one finger. "Sad, isn't it? But you have to admit that you were, and still are, a bit of a social idiot. I couldn't say anything to you without risking being shoved into a wall and breaking a nail."

He didn't even bother to demand if she was mocking him; he already knew she was. Instead, the Eldarian gave a short snort of derision—he knew better than to believe that the redhead would worry overmuch about the state of her nails since, despite all appearances, she didn't actually spend very much time primping in front of a mirror—and commented without a hint of remorse, "so you saw that."

"When you shoved Edge into the wall? Of course; I heard the crates fall and Meracle yelling, so I came to see what was the matter. You and the blond just happened to beat me to it. It gave me something to laugh about for weeks."

The Morphus slid off his bed and stood gracefully, smiling at the memory. She glanced down at him and spoke: "so now you know about Reimei. I don't care what you do either way; it's up to you how you want to deal with her. With all of your years of military experience, you ought to be able to come up with a strategy to use against one woman." Her eyes twinkled merrily as she said it. Arumat sighed; he was being mocked. _Again_. He didn't have time to dwell on it, though, because she suddenly bent down and pressed her lips against his cheek in the same spot Meracle had earlier. Her pink hair fell around them like a veil and the Morphus's scent—something light and rich and sweet and sensual all at the same time—wrapped around him and he was drowning. He inhaled deeply, drawing the smell into his lungs, and Myuria withdrew and sauntered casually back to the door.

"Think about it," she tossed off-handedly over her shoulder, running one hand through her hair to settle it back into its usual order, and then she was gone. The thick metal plate of the door slid back into place with a soft metallic hiss.

Arumat frowned at the door, his cheek tingling and his nose still full of the smell of her. His headache redoubled. At least he wasn't bored any more.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Loving when the Plan Comes Together

* * *

The silver-haired Eldarian tried to go back to sleep after the Morphus woman left. Really he did. Unfortunately, it was proving as hard for him to resume his nap as it was for him to die. There must be some sort of cosmic irony in that, he figured disgruntledly, denying him his rest. As it was, he was itching for something to do. He toyed with the notion of cleaning the room so that the fool blond captain might have an example of proper military order and neatness, but dismissed it regretfully after only a few seconds for two reasons. First, Edge was probably too much of an idiot to pick up on the hint. Second, and more importantly, Arumat hadn't been feigning his disgust in his conversation with Myuria. Just the thought of what he might run into picking up all of the clothing and papers that littered Edge's half of the room and spilled over onto his own side was enough to make him feel soiled.

That as much as anything else made up his mind and Arumat stalked out into the hall after picking up his scythe—his newest one that had sharp metal blades and that was imbued with ridiculously powerful earth symbology—and settling it on one shoulder. He couldn't claim any particular affection for the crew he worked with, but he loved that scythe and therefore couldn't leave it where some idiot could find it and do something stupid. The gods only knew that Sarah had already tried. She had explained afterward that her spear was similar to his scythe and so she had tried it out because she felt that her attack power wasn't great enough. It had taken the rest of the crew a week to repair the damage she had caused to the ship, and the ground underneath it would never be the same. Who knew that a wind attack would respond so violently to being paired with an earth attack? _Anyone who gave it even the slightest amount of thought at all_, Arumat responded to his own thoughts, frowning. He had managed to retrieve his scythe before the winged fool could do much more, but it bothered him to even think of someone else touching—let alone using—his weapon.

He kicked open the door to the men's bathroom, secretly delighting in the scrape his steel-capped boot left on the polished metal. It was unnecessary to say the least, since the door slid sideways and all, but it made him feel a little better. A quick glance around assured him that he was alone—he didn't want to be the next one to find the idiot angel stripping down while he was in the bathroom. Edge had said that she had wandered off for a walk, but that didn't mean anything about where she might be now. Arumat had found that it paid to be paranoid around this lot, since they always managed to do the unexpected. Apparently it was his lucky day because in addition to not having any unwelcome guests, his bathing supplies were exactly where he had left them, untouched. He knew because he had smoothed one of the long, silver hairs from his forelock over the tops of the shampoo, soap, and squeegee. It was still there, so nothing had been removed from the basket they were stored in. It was probably an unnecessary precaution, but he still had to ignore the little voice in the back of his mind that screamed that the hair had probably been replaced and that his shampoo was now contaminated by something truly vile. Living on the Calnus had not been good for his mental health—for the most part, his trust issues had gotten worse.

He locked the door, propped his scythe up against the doorjamb, and turned on the shower, letting it run while he pulled off his armor and deposited it in a neat pile on the low stool beside the cabinet the towels were stored in. By the time he tugged the metal clasp out of his hair, the water was hot enough to send up huge plumes of steam. The mirror was fogging up and little droplets of condensation were sliding down every surface. The Eldarian stepped under the spray and just stood there for a while, enjoying the heat that was just this side of being truly painful. His pale, silvery hair darkened to a flatter slate grey when it was wet and plastered itself across his face.

When he was warm all the way through, he reached for his soap and squeegee and scrubbed. As he rinsed off the suds he contemplated the porous, off-white squeegee. Myuria had given it to him a few days after he had joined them on Aeos. She had noticed the difficulty he had getting the blood off of his skin—after a while, the stuff just dried onto his flesh and flatly refused to come off, particularly when it got under his nails. She had stopped him in the hall as he had paced towards the bathroom and yet another shower in an attempt to get the last of the blood-smell off (though only he and Meracle seemed to really smell it) and pressed it into his hands.

"It works better than the washcloths and you get less laundry to do," was all she had said before retreating back into the room she shared with the cat-girl. And it did. Edge had laughed at him about having it. Once. And the blond captain had one too, now, since Reimei had decided that the washcloths were more trouble than they were worth. In the privacy of the shower stall, Arumat smirked. _At least mine isn't pink_, he gloated. _Who's laughing now?_

The thought kept him in a fairly good mood while he washed his hair and when he discovered that his shampoo didn't smell like flowers, he was cheered even more. The Morphus woman must have stepped in the last time Reimei went shopping for supplies. The goody-goody archer seemed to have some sort of obsession with fruity, sweet fragrances, which Arumat supposed might be acceptable for a girl's own personal use, but not as the bulk purchase for the whole crew. Even Edge had complained about that one, albeit only when Reimei was safely off the ship. And so he was happy by his own standards as he scrubbed his scalp until the shampoo foamed everywhere and dripped onto his shoulders in bubbly flecks. He had pushed his bangs back behind his ear to keep the soap out of his eyes and was scratching at the nape of his neck when the power went out. The shower cut off, the lights flickered out, and Arumat was left standing in the dark with soap bubbles dripping off his head. His good mood evaporated faster than a snowflake in Hell.

With a snarled curse that sizzled even the highly-saturated air in the bathroom, Arumat shoved open the glass stall door and stepped out of the shower. His eyes were adjusting rapidly to the sudden gloom, aided by the dull red glow of the one emergency light over the door, but that didn't stop him from stubbing his little toe on the stool he had piled his armor on when he went to get a towel. He swore again with feeling—there wasn't anyone around to see him momentarily drop out of character and he felt that he deserved the chance to use a few particular words given how lousy his day had been, snatched up a fluffy white towel and was just winding it around his trim waist when a slim, dark shape burst into the room, knocked over his scythe, tripped over it as it fell (driving the blades a good four inches into the steel floor), and crashed headlong into him. They fell together backwards over the damned stool. Arumat's shoulders slammed into the cabinet as he tumbled with the other person on top of him. He could feel the sharp burn where the edge of the shelf had ripped his skin off, but he was soon distracted by the back of his head colliding with the wall. They hit the floor with a crash, pieces of Arumat's armor scattering everywhere from the toppled stool. The Eldarian blinked away the flashing lights the blow to his head had made dance prettily in his vision and looked down at the person sprawled half in his lap. Reimei stared back, wide-eyed and frozen. Arumat wasn't sure where the damn towel had gone.

The brown-haired girl squeaked like a mouse being trodden on and pushed herself to her feet with the aid of one hand braced on his thigh near his hip. She squeaked again when she realized what she had done. Arumat was surprised that her face wasn't glowing like the emergency light: he could almost feel the heat radiating off of it.

"Ah, ah, where's Edge?" she managed to force out after a few false starts.

Arumat shot her an ironic look that was lost in the darkness, stood, and wrapped a new towel around himself, tying it securely over one hip. "I don't usually bathe with Edge," he commented. He could almost hear her brain frying with embarrassment and he was actually rather enjoying it, despite the situation. She was quiet for once.

"It's just that we were in the training room and he said that he was going to take a shower, but that was a while ago and now the power went out and I wanted to ask him what we should do—" she rambled.

"You couldn't come up with something on your own?" The silver-maned Eldarian knew it was a nasty question, but he couldn't help himself. So much for his vaunted self-control. It was wasted on her anyway. She didn't answer and Arumat resisted the childish urge to roll his eyes.

"So let's go find out what happened," he said wearily, yanking his scythe out of the floor and returning it to its proper place on his shoulder. Reimei followed in his wake like a duckling bobbing in the wake of a mother duck.

Only the emergency lights were on in the hallway as well. They descended the ramp to the rec. room and found it completely dark; the little red emergency lights must have failed on the first floor. By now, Arumat's keen eyes had completely adjusted and his night vision allowed him to see clearly. He spared a few seconds to be grateful for this other advantage Eldarians had over their Earthling allies; Arumat couldn't imagine what it was like living with such terrible sight, smell, and hearing.

Suddenly a pair of huge, luminous green eyes appeared, accompanied by the sounds of loud crunching. Reimei screamed and the scarred Eldarian assumed that he now knew why Earthling men at least had such poor hearing.

"It's Meracle," he hissed at the brown-haired archer. Reimei stopped her horrible screeching instantly.

"Oh." At least she had the decency to sound embarrassed, Arumat consoled himself. Now if she would just go sit quietly in a corner until he found out what was going on, she might actually make it through this latest crisis in one piece. But no, Reimei started talking again to try to cover for her outburst.

"Meracle, did you raid my kitchen?" the first mate demanded, hands on her hips.

The cat girl finished shoving whatever it was in her hand into her mouth, swallowed hugely so that Arumat could see the lump go down her throat, then said innocently: "Nope. I heard the crunching, too, though. I think it was something else. Maybe something got on the ship, meow!" The golden-eyed Eldarian figured that Meracle knew how bad Reimei's night vision was, too, because she tipped him a huge wink and raised one clawed finger to her lips.

"You hear really well, Merry," Reimei was trying to sound brave and was failing miserably. "Do you know where the crunching came from?"

"Yup!" the cat-girl exclaimed cheerfully. "Back that way!" She waved behind her. "It was near the kitchen."

"I'm sure it was," Arumat said dryly. Meracle grinned at him, not in the least ashamed.

"Maybe it ate Myuria," the Fellpool added, her smile becoming sly. "She was back there, too, but I haven't seen her for a while."

Reimei "eep-ed!" and jumped to where she thought was behind Arumat. She ran headlong into his side, instead, and slammed her face into his bare shoulder. He hoped she got a bloody nose. The archer put one hand on his muscular bicep and felt her way around until she had put the Eldarian's body between herself and the doorway Meracle had just emerged from. The cat-girl grinned more widely still, marched over to her, grabbed her arm, and began dragging the reluctant archer toward the doorway.

"C'mon, let's go save her, meow!" Meracle sounded almost gleeful and Arumat didn't blame her. Tormenting Reimei was more fun than torturing his victims, only he didn't get the same nagging feeling that he should just put her out of her misery. Reimei uttered a strangled sob as the cat-girl began to pull her away from his body and wrapped her arms around Arumat's chest just under his arms. Meracle was shaking with silent laughter now and the ex-captain raised one silver brow at the blue-haired cat.

"Don't worry, Reimei," Meracle chirped. "Arumat will protect us, won't you Mattie?"

"Hn," was all he replied. He didn't trust himself to speak without laughing, which was an incredibly odd sensation. He usually reserved his laughter for use as a sarcastic or malicious accompaniment to a scathing comment or snubbing silence. Actually merriment was both foreign and somehow…_undignified_. And yet here he was, standing in the darkened Calnus soaked and soapy, clad only in a towel with an idiot woman now clawing at his back in an attempt to keep herself from being hauled off into what to her pathetic eyes was pitch blackness, and he wanted to laugh. Meracle's glowing green eyes twinkled up at him: she obviously knew exactly what he was feeling and was sharing the sentiment.

"Let's go kill it, huh, Mattie?" The little cat definitely had a wicked sense of humor. Arumat liked her better already. He shrugged Reimei off, planted one hand just under her breasts—the archer half-shrieked and blushed again— and started pushing her back into the dark passage with every step he took forward. Propelled by the two strongest crew members, Reimei could only scrabble helplessly at his arm as her heeled boots scraped across the deck. He smirked. Meracle grinned like the cat with the canary. He was glad that Reimei couldn't see their expressions; it would probably terrify the brunette out of her little mind to see such bestial smiles.

The trio had made it into the Item Creation room, which doubled as their kitchen, when there was a loud bang behind them. Reimei squealed.

"Reimei, Reimei, is that you?" came Edge's voice. "Lymle and I are coming right now, so just hold on. I wish I could see better. Hey, Lym, do you think you could get Cerberus to light up the hall some?"

"I can do it myself, 'kay," the Lemurisian said petulantly. Arumat watched as the young woman lifted her wand and began to trace a fire symbol in the air. Just at that moment, the lights came back on and Myuria stepped out of one of the storage rooms, dusting off her hands on her short skirt. She paused for a moment to take in the sight of the crew. Edge and Lymle had just tumbled into the room and were lying in a heap. Edge looked dazed: Lymle's wand had beamed him on top of the head as she fell. The Eldarian spared a moment to curse his bad luck: Lymle had managed to snuff her fire spell before she burned the blond brat's head off. Meracle was hurriedly stuffing another pastry in her mouth. The table Sarah and Reimei had left their tarts on to cool was now oddly denuded. Reimei was slumped over in relief, looking pale and shaken. And the stern Eldarian was dripping on the floor, his hair still filled with foam and his pale skin covered with new scratches.

The Morphus put one hand over her mouth to stifle her chuckles. Arumat shot her a nasty look.

"I'm assuming that this is your fault," he said.

"My fault?" Myuria contrived to sound offended. "I was just checking the emergency systems to see if we had repaired all of the damage Sarah caused with _your_ scythe. As you might have noticed, we'll have to ask Bacchus to fix the emergency wiring on the first floor. I'm guessing from your appearance that the emergency systems didn't come on upstairs, either."

"Arumat," Edge scolded. "You can't just blame everything on Myuria. She was just trying to be helpful."

Myuria smiled at the younger blond and glided over to him to put one hand on his shoulder. "Edge's right; I only meant to help." She fluttered her lashes slightly at Arumat, who noticed that Edge's gaze was wandering to the redhead's impressive cleavage. The Eldarian didn't even need to look to see that Reimei was even now swelling with anger. _Just like two cats sparring over their territory_, his mind supplied in amusement. Edge was well and truly distracted by Myuria's clinging and Reimei seemed to understand that the object of her affections wasn't paying her latest fit the slightest bit of attention. So she switched tactics.

Arumat found himself standing with the brunette archer hanging on to his arm with a death grip, her breasts pressed firmly against his skin through the fabric of her uniform.

"Well, I'm glad that it turned out to be something harmless, but even if it didn't, Arumat would have been more than capable of protecting us." Her voice was artificially sweet and she wore a patently false smile. Myuria smiled back at the younger girl and picked up the gauntlet, so to speak. Her slim, tattooed arms slid around Edge's neck and she pulled the blond Earthling's face down into the soft cleft between her breasts. The little bit of Edge's face that could be seen was flushed a bright red.

"I know; isn't it wonderful to have such strapping young men around to help us all the time!" she gushed, mimicking Reimei's normal mode of speech. The archer noticed and swayed closer yet to Arumat, lifting one hand to stroke down the back of his head and neck in a deliberate motion that the pink-tressed Morphus had subjected him to before. The Eldarian jerked his head away, showering the shorter woman with droplets of water and soap and Reimei realized that her hand was slicked with the shampoo he hadn't had the opportunity to rinse out before Myuria started meddling. Arumat could see the blush forming under her light tan and her brown eyes darted every which way for something to wipe her hand on and try to salvage the situation. The next second, her hand was sliding down the towel over his thigh. Myuria was stifling her giggles with her spare hand, one still being employed in keeping Edge facedown in her rather abundant charms.

"There's more towel in front, if you like," the busty symbologist mentioned, for all the world as though she were merely trying to contribute a helpful hint. Reimei blushed hugely and Arumat divided one of his best golden-eyed glares between the two women and shoved the archer away with casual strength.

"If you two are done squabbling like children," he hissed, belatedly remembering to pull his wet bangs back in front of his face from behind his ear—he didn't like people staring at his scarred face, thank you—"I have more important things to attend to." And with as much dignity as he could muster, he spun on his bare heel and marched out the door into the rec. room, pausing only long enough to tell the Edge-Myuria collective to "get out of my way."

As soon as the door slid shut behind him, the Item Creation room became a bedlam. Even inches of steel weren't enough to completely mute the sound of Myuria and Reimei going at it hammer and tongs, with Edge's plaintive wails for peace barely heard in the background. Arumat gave in to the urge to roll his eyes and prowled back up the ramp to the crew quarters and, blessedly, the men's restroom. It was still angel-free and, now that the system's power had been restored, hot water was gushing from the showerhead. Since he hadn't closed the shower door when this whole little fiasco began, there was a fair-sized lake on the floor. Arumat ignored it except to rescue those bits of his armor that were at risk of a ducking and was soon ensconced once more under the steady stream.

Unfortunately, any and all pleasure he had originally derived from the thought of a shower was now marred by Myuria's oh-so-innocent test. He rinsed quickly, turned off the shower, and proceeded to use an unnecessary number of towels which he tossed in a heap in the middle of the floor out of sheer spite where they became one with the lake in a soggy cotton mountain. _Let Edge see how he likes the mess_, he grouched. At this point, with his day down the tubes and with only a downhill ride from there, he was willing to exercise a little bit of petty malice.

He did not allow the messiness to extend to his own belongings, however, and was careful to restore his assorted toiletries to their basket and to replace the hair over their tops before shutting them in the cabinet where they belonged. The occasional cold drip of water splashed on his bare buttocks from the tips of his imperfectly-toweled hair, causing goosebumps to rise along his spine as he glared down at his armor and clothing, trying to decide whether he wanted to redress himself in them. In his irritation, he had forgotten to bring a change of clothing with him to the bathroom and he had worn the old set that morning during his usual training session. In retrospect, he could hardly believe that he had actually lain in his clean bed in his dirty clothes just because the archer bitch would have a temper tantrum was more that irritating. _Not again_, he vowed to himself. _Just because I need them to get back to my own ship—if it even still exists after Gaghan's ridiculous destruction of everything he might need to protect his new colony—doesn't mean that I have to give up all of my pride and dignity to placate the child-Captain's little pet._

With acknowledgement of his deference to the fool girl still rankling fresh in his mind, he scorned his soiled clothes and left them, too, abandoned on the cool steel of the floor with the used towels. The puddle had expanded; his armor had gotten wet. Arumat heaved a sigh, snatched up the last remaining towel (not without some satisfaction at the thought of Edge having to make do with something else), and wrapped it firmly around his waist. Then the silver-haired man strode from the bathroom after shouldering his scythe with easy grace.

Arumat passed Lymle in the hallway on his way to his room. He noticed with a sort of wry amusement the way her brown eyes widened and tracked over his slim, scarred body. _She's growing up, too_, the Eldarian ex-Captain noted with a pang of almost-regret, watching her from the corner of his amber eyes as he passed. She turned her head to keep looking. Her growth reminded him of how little time he had left and how much time he was wasting on this vacation the Calnus's crew was taking.

He entered his room, trying to ignore the mess that Edge had left everywhere. As the door slid shut behind him, he tossed his towel to the floor, completely unabashed by his nudity, and tore the sheets from his bed. He would be damned if he was going to sleep on them again now that he was clean and they were not. The amber-eyes soldier went to the shared linen closet and pulled it open. He was greeted by bare shelves where the spare sets of clean sheets should have been. Arumat couldn't exactly say that he was surprised: Edge had been burning through the sheets with frightening rapidity since Myuria had begun teasing him at the beginning of the vacation. The Eldarian's nose wrinkled in disgust.

_The damn brat manages to live with his messes all over the floor_, he though bitterly, _he should have the ability to live with the messes he makes in his bed. _He slammed the linen closet door childishly, then yanked it back open to pull out a pair of spare blankets. The blankets were wool and prickled his skin unpleasantly, but if he had managed to sleep on the twisted remains of his assorted transports (he had), he could sleep on a rough blanket. So telling himself, he made up his bed with military precision only to unmake it again and crawl between the turned-down blankets, still naked. He pulled the top one up to the bottoms of his long, pointed ears, covering his pointed chin, and fell asleep almost immediately out of reflex.

Several hours later, Edge slipped back into the room, his hands fumbling with his clothes in the dark. His entrance and ragged breathing woke Arumat, who grimaced, his face hidden by the pitch blackness of the room. Pieces of Edge's armor clattered on the floor as the blonde Earthling stripped, his motions clumsy in his blindness and his haste. The younger man's pants became moans and the Eldarian ex-Captain found himself cursing the sharp hearing and visual acuity that were benefits of his species. _He must not know I'm here_, he realized, trying and failing to block out the sounds Edge was making, which were now escalating to a sort of keening wail interspersed with Myuria's name repeated over and over like a mantra.

Finally, Arumat couldn't take any more. He rose, the blanket slipping off his battle-hardened form to gather at his hips, where he caught it in one strong hand, and shot Edge a nasty look. The Earthling sucked in a startled breath at the sight of Arumat's eyes gleaming with unholy yellow light in the gloom.

"Do you not have any sense at all?" the Eldarian hissed, coiling the hand that wasn't occupied with supporting his blanket and protecting his modesty—normally he wouldn't care about being seem naked as his long years of service in any and all conditions had scraped away any and all vestiges of shyness, but it just felt _wrong_ right now—around his scythe. "That Morphus bitch has no interest in you." And with that, he stormed out of the room to let Edge figure out what to do next.

It was quiet in the little landing outside the room. The stairs descended into the darkened rec. room on his left and he considered crashing on the couch downstairs, but the soft hum of voices drifted up to him and made up his mind. The silver-haired Eldarian turned right and prowled down the hall, through the water that was seeping out from under the door to the men's bathroom (he didn't know why it was there since the mess he had made was nowhere near that large. Edge could always be counted on to make things worse.), and into the training room which was blessedly empty. He flopped down onto one of the odd chairs that stuck out from the walls and resettled the blanket over himself while glaring at the ceiling, thoroughly pissed with this world and everything in it.

Stars dotted the ceiling and in the distance a galaxy spun with slow majesty. Someone had forgotten to turn of the observatory function when they had left, but Arumat forgave them their oversight because the view was soothing. It reminded him of traveling the cosmos in the captain's seat of his own battleship, though the snide voice in his head commented that it wasn't quite the same because Eldar wasn't exploding in the foreground. The scarred ex-captain crushed the voice down and tried to smother the stab of pain and remorse that lodged itself under his heart at the thought of his home planet's destruction. He could feel the downward spiral of guilt and recrimination beginning and struggled to pull his mind away from that yawning abyss, but it was a battle he was going to lose, he knew, since the darkness in his chest merely fed on the frustration and rage that had built in him over the course of the last few days. Just as he began to drift as close as he ever came to despair, the training room door hissed open again and Reimei entered carrying a pillow and a blanket. She glanced up, saw him, and froze.

"Oh!" She sounded tired, even in her surprise, and the silver-haired Eldarian noticed immediately that her voice was not its usually gratingly cheerful shrilling. "I'm sorry; I was going to use the observatory, but if it bothers you I can come back later."

"It's fine," Arumat said abruptly, almost cutting off her last words.

The archer paused momentarily, then smiled sweetly at him—and actual, natural smile—and crossed the room to curl up on the seat next to his with the pillow propping her up and the blanket over her crossed legs. Arumat frowned and shifted in his seat; he hadn't expected her to elect to sit next to him and he wasn't exactly dressed for company. Still, as long as she had only come to watch the projected stars, he wasn't going to complain. It was too much effort and she had provided a welcome distraction—_there's a first for everything, I guess_— from his previous train of thought.

And so it was that for some time the two of them simply lay there and stared up at the starry ceiling, the pinpricks of light reflecting off on their eyes. Arumat, whose body had tensed into combat-readiness the moment she had entered, was beginning to relax when the brunette turned toward him and asked, "are you having some sort of problem with Edge?"

He stared at her, his face perfectly deadpan. _How do I tell her that her would-be boyfriend came in jacking off and calling Myuria's name so I left the room in disgust to try and find some peace without making her so angry that she starts screaming again?_ He wondered momentarily. Normally he would go ahead and say the nastiest thing that came to mind in his best uncaring voice just to piss her off, damn the torpedoes, but since she was being remarkably quiet and passably companionable by his standards, he felt that a more tactical approach was necessary. He settled for something noncommittal and uninformative: "I couldn't sleep."

Reimei nodded. "I have nights like that, too, where I just can't stop thinking about something and it keeps me awake and then all it takes in one little thing to go wrong and I have to get up and do something before I go crazy."

Arumat slanted her an amber-eyed glance from under his half-lowered lids. _You have no idea_, he sighed internally. It actually came out as a soft hum of acknowledgement; Reimei seemed a little surprised by even that small addition to the conversation on his end. She appeared to hesitate a moment, teetering on the edge of some decision. The battle-scarred Eldarian could feel a sudden shift in the atmosphere that meant something unpleasant was coming his way and he sat up a little to bring his hands closer to his scythe. The blanket slid from his shoulder, down his chest, and pooled on his lap. He could see the sudden solidification of resolve in Reimei's eyes and every muscle that had been on its way to relaxation corded into stressed knots. _Ah…shit…_echoed in his mind.

Reimei looked down at her hands fidgeting in her lap and started twisting her fingers around each other. She glanced up at him through her lashes and made an obvious effort to still her nervous tics by pressing her hands into her knees. _Oh, shit…shit, shit, shit…_ it was becoming a rather crude litany.

"Arumat?" her voice was soft and tentative and lilting with the first cadences of feminine seduction.

The Eldarian in question mentally face-palmed and "hnn"-ed again. Here was his opportunity to settle this little problem with Reimei, conveniently packaged in the worst possible way. He hadn't thought she would be able to scrape up the courage to ask him directly. He had expected an indirect assault—unwanted touches, gifts of food (which he would rather die than admit to enjoying), complements about his assorted skills—which he was fully prepared to deal with using the appropriate necessary responses. But no, that would have been too easy. Why the hell didn't—

"Arumat, do you…_like_ me?"

Long, uncomfortable silence.

Finally Arumat sighed and met Reimei's hopeful eyes with his own. They were stepping out onto dangerously emotional ground—an uncharted territory for him and all around were nasty pitfalls. And so he did what he did best: he worked to defuse the situation. It was a pity that he couldn't just chop her in half, but he really did want to get back to his hopefully-still-existent ship. All he had to do was evade the question.

"You like Edge." He said it as a statement, plain and unadorned. Sure enough, the archer blushed scarlet but—damn her—she didn't look away like he had expected.

"That isn't what I asked, Arumat."

This was exactly why he didn't like working with women. They were so emotional and almost impossible to predict and dissuade from their little romances. And Reimei was worse than most. Even now her brown eyes were misting with unshed tears as she gazed up at him expectantly. The scarred Eldarian could feel another headache coming on, the first pulses of agony already building in his temples and behind his eyes.

"I don't think—" he was cut off by Reimei's sudden lunge toward him. His battle-honed reflexes kicked into overdrive and he reacted mindlessly, twisting her grasping arms back and crushing her to the ground, pinning her now-flailing limbs under her slim body. His knees pressed down on her thighs, keeping her still and trapped under him—and that was when his mind caught up with his body and he realized that the situation had become infinitely more uncomfortable. Reimei's soft brown eyes were huge in her pale face as she took in the sight of him above her, lingering over certain parts of him he had rather hoped to keep to himself amongst this infernal crew. He had absolutely no fucking luck with blankets and towels it seemed.

Arumat swore and released her, rising and reaching for the blanket and his scythe in one fluid movement that was hampered when Reimei also struggled to her feet and wrapped her arms around him from behind.

"Please don't go," she whispered against the skin of his back, resting her forehead in the hollow just between and below his shoulder blades. "I know that you don't think of me like this, but I just want…I just want to…"

"Make Edge notice you, be more experienced," Arumat finished for her, repeating Myuria's words from earlier, his hand scant inches from the sleek metal shaft of his weapon. He could feel the archer nod. He sighed for what felt like the hundred thousandth time that day.

_Please, please don't let anyone walk in on this_, he thought fervently in what was as close as he ever came to a prayer, then he turned slowly in her arms so that he could look down into her face. He raised one hand and gently traced the line of her jaw from just below her ear to her chin, tipped her face up, and kissed her. The archer stiffened but didn't pull away when he slanted his lips across hers, but when he asked entrance to her mouth with his tongue, Reimei flinched in shock and backed away slightly, breaking the kiss. Her hands clutched spasmodically at his upper arms even as she turned her face away, blushing a painful scarlet.

"Are you scared?" Arumat deliberately employed a mocking tone, as though he was doubting her willpower and dedication. She responded exactly as he expected her to: she turned back and lifted her chin defiantly at him, her brown eyes an intriguing mixture of pique and new-found arousal.

"Of course not," she snapped a little breathlessly. The tall Eldarian gave a soft grunt of amusement and twisted his hands into her long hair before pulling her back into the kiss.

She let him invade her mouth this time, he noted, his analytical mind already working out the rest of the plan that he hoped would end the archer's recent stalker-like behavior forever. The kiss became more heated as the Earthling began to relax against him, her hands sliding caressingly up his arms and across his shoulders so that she could wrap one arm around his neck and bury the other hand in the short, silver hairs at his nape. She moaned as their tongues fought and arched her back, pressing her breasts against his bare chest unintentionally.

The amber-eyed man took advantage of the brunette's distraction to begin loosening the fastenings at the neckline of her tight jacket—at least she wasn't wearing her armor today; it made his life a little easier and made her look less like she was wearing a lamp shade on her hips—easing the zipper down to expose her sharp, delicate collar bones and the tops of her now-heaving breasts. He could hear her panting as he bent further, turning his head to kiss and lick a scorching trail along her jaw. He nipped at the soft skin below her ear before tracing the line of her neck and shoulders with his mouth, leaving behind telltale bright red bruises. By now both of her hands were fisted in his silver mane and, with a half-concealed sigh of exasperation, he realized that she was a hair-puller. It figured. Still, he continued, dipping his head further to leave more marks on her chest. And that was when the little archer tried a little pro-activity and slid her fingers along the inner edge of his long, pointed ears, just above the rim of the metal coverings. Arumat jerked as if he had been shocked, his breath hissing out in a startled gasp that turned into a low moan halfway through.

The battle-scarred Eldarian had to pause in his attentions for a moment to gather the thoughts that had fled his normally-acute mind. He rested his head in the crook between Reimei's neck and shoulder, uncaring that she could hear just how ragged his breathing had become when she had fondled his ears.

"Are…are you okay, Arumat?" the archer queried tremulously, clearly terrified of having done something wrong. Arumat nodded his head once in affirmation, his bangs brushing across her bared shoulder; his breathing was still a little too rough for unaffected speech.

"Um…You know, I overheard Myuria tell Lymle not to pull Faize's ears once, back when they were arguing about something. She said that it might…might have unexpected consequences…" Reimei was stroking his hair again; she seemed to fixate on it and it gave her hands something to do when she was nervous. And then those hands paused and moved and the brunette stroked the sensitive flesh of his ears again. This time his moan was louder and edged into a growl at the end.

"Does it hurt?" she asked wonderingly, innocently. Arumat straightened abruptly, lifting his head from her shoulder, and jerked her forward so that her body pressed against his. His building erection was caught against her stomach between them.

"I have no desire to talk about Faize right now."

Her face went red and she stared speechlessly up at him. "Oh," she squeaked out, and then he was kissing her again, hotter and fiercer than before, dominating the interplay between them effortlessly. Reimei trembled and gripped at his arms as her knees started to buckle. Arumat anchored her to him with one strong arm around her waist, his other hand slipping up to tug the zipper down to the center of her belly, fully exposing her breasts. She shuddered in startled delight when the calloused pads of his fingers ghosted across her nipples. The beaded up under his touch and Reimei groaned into the kiss. Her head lolled back, exposing her long throat, and Arumat wasted no time in taking advantage. He bit lightly into the skin above her windpipe, feeling the fragile rings of cartilage shift against his lips as she swallowed, then soothed the small hurt with his tongue.

His mouth fell to her breasts and Reimei's panting cries crescendoed into a piercing wail of pleasure. The Eldarian took his time, trying to work her up into a frenzy—which he was achieving quite handily, thank you—and to get himself back into control after Reimei's little experiment on his person—which wasn't working out quite as well as he had hoped.

However, when he pulled back from her after a few moments, he had to pause to admire his handiwork. The archer was panting and trembling, her huge brown eyes clouded with lust, her lips kiss-swollen and temptingly red, and her creamy skin marked dark bruises following the track of his mouth. In short, she looked utterly ravished and utterly ravishing.

"A-Arumat," she whispered breathily, reaching for him again, confusion crossing her face as she wondered why he had pulled back so suddenly. He bent and kissed her again, the turned to recollect his blanket from the floor. The scarred Eldarian draped it around himself in a hasty toga—something that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else, but that he pulled off admirably—then started towing Reimei toward the door. He realized that he was going to have to leave his scythe behind, which almost made him call off the whole thing, but the slender archer was reaching for his ears again and the ex-Captain made up his mind. He was halfway out of the observatory with her behind when she started to protest, grabbing at the front of her uniform where it gaped open.

"What?" she started to ask. He silenced her with a quick, hard kiss.

"Not here."

She seemed to agree since she was quiet the whole way to his room, though that may have been because she was too busy kissing him. He slammed her up against the door and plundered her mouth like a conqueror. They practically fell over the threshold when the door slid open behind her. Arumat retained enough sense to catch her before she fell and knocked herself unconscious, then he walked her backwards so that the backs of her knees collided with one of the low beds in the room. He shoved her down onto the military-issue mattress roughly. Her breath left her in a sharp hiccup and Arumat could see her eyes, huge in the dark, their pupils swollen with lust and darkness and sudden fear.

Beside her, Edge yelped in protest and scrambled for blankets to cover himself. Reimei howled with surprise and jumped up from the bed, only to be shoved back down roughly by Arumat.

"Reimei!" Edge exclaimed, worry coloring his tone. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" and suddenly the little Earthling was all accusatory affront: "Arumat! How could you! I guess I should have listened earlier when Reimei found Merry with you! What did you think you were doing?"

Arumat shot him a withering look that was lost in the dark. "I've just gotten things started for you lad. And now you'd best take care of something you should have done earlier." And with that, he turned on his heel and marched back out, leaving the would-be couple to sort themselves out as he considered his next move.

Edge was inept time and time again, but he also had a singular talent for getting extremely lucky at just the right time. Arumat had just expended a fair amount of energy creating one of those "right times" for his idiot captain, so he was fairly certain that the blonde Earthling couldn't fuck this up—at least, not any more that he was supposed to. All it would take was a bit of explanation on her part, a bit of understanding on his, and the two should figure it out quite nicely. After all, Edge was too good-natured to stand by as Reimei suffered through the level of sexual frustration Arumat had built up in her. Which solved one of the Eldarian's problems quite handily, but—here the ex-Captain glanced down the front of his blanket-now-toga resignedly—left him with another. The amber-eyed man huffed out a sigh that blew his long bangs away from his face and headed back down the corridor towards the men's bathroom. He would just make a quick stop in the training room to retrieve his scythe first, in case Edge _did _somehow make a mess of things and he ended up with both the archer and the swordsman coming after him.

He had almost reached the training room when the door slid open and Myuria stepped out. Arumat's golden eyes narrowed. The Morphus mage was carrying his scythe, her arms wrapped around it so that the long staff pressed between her breasts as she steadied it against her shoulder. The blades gleamed over her head, catching the light where they curved around behind her.

The pink-haired Morphus smiled at him, clearly amused by the dark glare he was focusing on her. "Ah, Arumat," she greeted him calmly, though amusement at his expense colored her tones. "I was just going to put this somewhere safe while you took care of your little archer problem." She paused and shot a significant look at his groin where the draping material didn't quite hide his current…predicament. "You _did_ take care of your little archer problem?"

"She's with Edge," he ground out, reaching for his scythe. Myuria, however, made no move to let go of his weapon even as his hand curved around its long shaft just above her breasts.

"Well done then," she congratulated him, tipping her head back to keep her eyes on his as he shifted closer to pull his scythe away. "That's the best solution I could think of, providing that the boy doesn't turn her back out in the hall on the grounds of chivalry or some other such foolish notion."

Arumat "hnn"-ed and pulled a little more insistently on his weapon. _Just let go of it woman,_ he fumed internally.

Myuria conceded, releasing his scythe, though she didn't back away. Instead, she gazed into his face thoughtfully for a while before speaking.

"She petted your ears, didn't she?" The Morphus symbologist was smiling to herself. "You look awfully bothered."

"She did," Arumat ground out, not entirely sure why he was sharing the information but doing so anyway. "And I am assuming that it was your fault, too."

Myuria's half-suppressed grin turned into a full smile. "It seems that a lot of things are my fault recently. I guess that means I owe you a few favors." Realization clicked into place in Arumat's mind and he cocked his head and regarded his crewmate, considering the offer. The Morphus woman was beautiful, he admitted to himself, and she had proven to be a worthy companion on the battlefield and the best company among the crew off of it. They were both mature adults, so what harm could come from it?

Obviously Myuria could see the assent in his eyes because she slid closer to him and rested her head against his chest, one hand dipping lower to brush teasingly across his groin.

"I sent Meracle to stay with Lymle tonight, since Lym will be lonely without Reimei there. They both wanted to do their part to help that little romance along." Myuria smiled craftily, leading him step by step back to her room. Arumat allowed himself to be guided even as he lifted a fistful of her long, pink hair to his nose, inhaling her scent deeply.

"A convenient excuse," the ex-Captain accused her without rancor, dropping the roseate locks in favor of nuzzling the soft flesh just below her ear. There was just one last thing, and much as he didn't really want to bring it up, it didn't feel right to him not to… "Lucien?" he whispered the name as a question and felt the Morphus woman still momentarily in his arms. Then Myuria kissed him softly and replied, "he wanted me to be happy, and…I think that I might be ready to try." Satisfied with her answer, Arumat renewed his attentions and Myuria somehow managed to get the two of them back to her quarters.

Meracle wasn't in the room, practically a sure sign that Reimei had stayed with Edge: if things hadn't gone as planned, no doubt the archer would be sobbing in her room and Meracle didn't like to be around her any more than absolutely necessary. Arumat was grateful for her absence because as soon as they were across the threshold, Myuria tugged off the blanket and stepped back, running her eyes over him appraisingly.

Arumat lifted his chin arrogantly, confidence smoldering in his amber eyes. Myuria grinned at him, then mock-sighed and tsk-ed.

"Well," she said, shaking her head in feigned disappointment, "I suppose I couldn't have expected quite so much from someone who only cares about fighting…"

Arumat huffed out an amused breath and closed the distance between them.

"A good Captain must excel at a variety of things. Out of pride, an ex-Captain must do better," he informed her, his voice a deep and growling promise.

"Well, then," Myuria rejoined, suddenly breathing harder as his lips closed over her pulse-point, "I'm happy to help you practice."

Arumat didn't bother to respond and, after a while, neither of them needed to.

The silver-maned Eldarian woke slowly the next morning, feeling completely at ease for the first time in a very long time. Myuria lay with her head pillowed on his shoulder, her long hair draping over them in a pink river. She murmured softly in her sleep and nestled closer. Arumat pulled the cover back up over her shoulders and wrapped her in a loose embrace, simply enjoying the feeling of being so near to another person without any reservations. He leaned back deeper into the pillow, content to watch the ceiling and listen to the pink-haired symbologist breath. Myuria stirred as he shifted, lifting her head drowsily and propping her elbows of his chest. She smiled slowly and Arumat could feel his lips quirk in response.

"So," she enquired, "how do you feel about breakfast?"

"Hnn," Arumat responded noncommittally. "That would depend on what I was having…" one hand slid down Myuria's spine under the blanket. She laughed and swatted him gently.

"Well, ex-Captain, regardless of you want,I _am _hungry." She made as if to rise, but Arumat caught her by one elbow.

"Ex-Captain?" he asked with a lift of an eyebrow.

"Your rank based on your personal criteria and last night's performance. Don't let it go to your head. Hey!" Her lofty tone descended into one of protest as he dragged her back down onto the bed and pinned her beneath his body, grinning a challenge at her.

She smirked back and raised one hand to push him off, symbological lightning already crackling around it, when the room's door whooshed open. Arumat hastily pulled the covers back over them, less because he cared about someone seeing him naked and more because his newly-awakened jealousy didn't want to share the sight of Myuria's soft flesh…at least, any more of it than usual, given her typical attire.

"Breakfast!" Meracle yelled, marching into the room to plonk a tray down onto the bedside table. Myuria and Arumat stared at the little Fellpool like she had grown another head. Meracle misread their expressions and defended herself loudly: "I didn't eat any of it! I didn't need to," she added as an afterthought. "Reimei made a ton this morning and asked me to bring some to Arumat. Something about a thank-you gift. Anyway, I took enough for two because I knew he was with you, Myuria. You guys were really loud last night—"

"Wait, Meracle," Myuria interrupted, sounding concerned. "You said that Reimei was already up this morning? And a thank-you gift?"

"Mm," the Fellpool confirmed, eying the gently-steaming scones on the tray out of habit. "Edge was in there, too, but he looked kind of tired, so he didn't talk much. Oh, yeah, and I brought clothes for Mattie from the laundry. Reimei said he might need them." And with that, the cat-girl bounced out of the room, presumably to return to the kitchen and the assortment of baked goods Reimei was turning out at a frightening pace.

"I'm really hoping that the boy didn't mess up," Myuria said. Arumat nodded. If Edge had, he was probably doomed to spend the rest of his days on this backwater planet after being thrown off the Calnus by an enraged Edge.

They ate quickly and dressed, then descended to stairs to the first floor and the Item Creation room. Sure enough, Reimei was baking at an incredible rate. Edge sat at a nearby table, looking weary but happy. Reimei turned to slide another batch of éclairs off of a baking sheet and caught sight of Arumat and Myuria. She blushed, put the tray down, and crossed the room to drag Myuria into one of the adjoining storage rooms. Arumat was left with Edge. Awkward silence fell until, after a while, Edge spoke.

"Er…thanks…for last night, I mean. I mean, I didn't realize Reimei liked me that way and…"

Arumat stopped the blonde's painful expression of gratitude with a few words: "Don't thank me, lad. It was in everyone's benefit."

A few moments later the Eldarian was watching Reimei and Edge canoodle shyly and regretting his words. Myuria noticed the slightly-ill expression on the silver-haired man's face and took him by the arm and together they walked into the rec. room. Meracle was sitting on one of the couches with a similarly sickened expression.

"It's so lovey-dovey in there that I want to vomit up a hairball," Meracle said, a slightly wild look coming into her green eyes. Arumat didn't say anything, but he agreed completely, though he hadn't ever vomited a hairball and wasn't certain that now was a good time to learn.

Myuria, noting their expressions and sharing the sentiment, offered a suggestion. "Why don't we go see it that angel is still hanging around under the Coliseum. I know he isn't as much of a challenge as you would like Arumat, but think of how many things you get to kill to get there."

"Yeah!" Meracle leapt to her feet and pumped both hands in the air. "I haven't seen Gabe in _forever_! Let's go visit! Do you think he wants some of Reimei's cookies?"

And that was how the three of them set off with an overflowing bag of baked goods to visit "Gabe," the time-travelling angel who seemed to enjoy picking secluded spots to lurk in for a few thousand years before attacking the passerby.

Reimei and Edge were happy together and proudly continued their work for their entire lives. Arumat and Myuria disappeared for the most part, news of them cropping up only rarely and then finally ceasing altogether. But who's to say that they weren't happy also?

* * *

And now a word from our author:

So I realized I didn't put a disclaimer at the beginning. Here it is now: I don't own Star Ocean (any of it, in all its forms). I do own copies of numbers three and four, though, which spawned this ficlet and are working hard to spawn one with Albel in it just as soon as all the goddamn plot bunnies can figure out how to move in (mostly) one direction. And after I get my D. Gray-man fic finished. Also, for those of you who caught the reference, I don't own the A Team (and I'm not sure I'd want to, either).

This didn't turn out at all like I had imagined (Reimei got a good ending...that was wierd as far as I'm concerned because I was actually planning something involving a horrible allergic reaction to a killer hornet. I don't like her, in case you haven't noticed. And you wouldn't, either, if you were working on your battle tropies and, just as you were about to do something a little more difficult, like defeat Sataniel with Sarah on the first try, a goddamn arrow came whizzing through the air _just before your attack landed_ so that the damn archer kill-jacked you. And then do it again and again and again until you get so sick of it that you either switch her out of your party for someone else (good plan) or set her on manual toward the end of the battle and watch as she gets the tar beat out of her (bad plan, but infinitely more satisfying since you can win without her anyway)), but I guess that works because I had fun imagining poor Arumat on the verge of a mental breakdown as a result of forced imprisonment on a planet with a bunch of nutcases. If he seems out of character...he is, but you would be too if you were in his boots. It was originally supposed to be three chapters, with a break right after Reimei starts asks him the question in the training room, but then my chapters were too short and I hated the transition. So I crammed them together and this is what you get.

That's all for now. Thank you for reading; I always appreciate knowing that I haven't completely wasted my time posting. Even if you add nothing more than one more bump on my story traffic, you've made this worthwhile. Still, I love reviews.

See you soon in another story,

Ibrium


End file.
